


A sceptic with a heart

by SrebrnaFH



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, Soulmark AU, Soulmarks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 07:32:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19268644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SrebrnaFH/pseuds/SrebrnaFH
Summary: Tony Stark has a "love" soulmark on his wrist - a model of capsaicin.And not only that.The thing is, he doesn't believe in the idea of soulmarks.





	A sceptic with a heart

**Author's Note:**

> Just a tiny little thing.  
> Wrote it today when waiting for reports to run.

Tony had always claimed that the whole soulmark business was rubbish and nonsense, good onlly for softbrained idiots who could not simply accept that the world was a cruel and cold place and that there was nobody waiting for us, no perfect partner or friend or ideal mentor.

His parents’ complete failure to create a stable household and to provide him with emotional support he needed might have had something to do with his stance on the topic. The fact that none of them had his name (or anything else that would somehow be related to him) inked on their forearms while his were covered with chemical symbols and cartoonish imagery only worked further towards convincing him that there was no rhyme or reason behind the way the “so-called soulmarks” appeared on human bodies.

Why else would he have the depiction of capsaicin, of all things, printed in bold red of “love link” around his wrist?

Not to mention the blue of “beloved child” that saturated a neat contour of a spider on the soft skin only inches above the red “bracelet” and a bare fingerwidth from equally blue wizard’s wand. As if he was ever going to be a father. Hah. He had had enough experience in what Stark men were like as parents. No kid should ever be exposed to  **that**  again.

And then there was another wand, this time in the green of “honest friendship”, and a hammer, and a pair of wings, and a falcon’s head, and a five-pointed star in a circle… all neatly arranged in a row, up to the crook of his elbow, where a cat’s head blazed in the shade of grass.

None of it made a shred of sense. None.

He pulled on another long-sleeved shirt, the cuff neatly covering the love mark, shrugged on a well-cut jacket and checked himself out in the mirror. Seemed appropriate. Just for the meeting with that annoying girl from assistants pool who had supposedly caught an error in his cash flow numbers and was raising hell about it.

He checked his calendar.

Miss V. Potts.

Very well, Miss Potts. Bring your numbers on.

He could do numbers. Numbers were specific and concrete, unlike pamby-namby soulmark and life bonds.

####

Pepper’s soft lips caressed the inside of his wrist, where the red of the capsaicin was blurred with the pink of a burn scar.

“Good thing the injuries to the mark don’t affect the bond,” she murmured.

“I would have damaged too much just with that one lab explosion,” he drew her closer. “And you…”

The “AES” on Pepper’s wrist was neatly bisected by one thin pink line of a shallow cut.

“Shhh,” she trailed a fingertip down his forearm, whispering the names as she went - T’Challa, Shuri, Sam, Steve, Stephen, Thor, Bruce, Nat, Rhodey…

“That tickles,” he complained sleepily.

“I know.”

She stopped her fingers at the mass of cross-cutting lines he had put there in an attack of grief one day.

“Peter,” she said softly.

He squeezed his eyes shut, staving off the tears.

She moved to the tiny blue wand.

“Morgan,” she said decisively.

“What?” he rose slightly on his other elbow, watching her with a frown.

“Morgan,” she repeated, smiling beatifically. “Morgan Stark.”

“W-what?”

She pulled his hand down, towards her still-flat abdomen.

“Morgan. As in, Morgan le Fay. Morgan Stark.”

“B-but you said… the doctor said…”

“Sh,” her finger closed his lips mid-sentence. “Your turn now.”

He took up her scarred wrist and kissed each of the letters of his initial so boldly contrasting with her pale skin.

“Peter,” he touched the small schematic of characteristic Spidey eyes etched in blue. “So… Morgan?”

A blue stylised wave took up the space at least equal to the size of her palm.

“Of the sea,” she provided quietly.

“Ah,” he moved higher. “May. Nat. Rhodey. Phil. Seriously, though…”

“Shut up.”

“Happy. Stephen…”

His fingers slid back down, down, down to her wrist and the two neatly arranged blue marks - Peter’s mask over the wave.

“Morgan.”


End file.
